Fearing , Craving, Doubting
by Starkid191
Summary: A threeshot based on 4x16 - On the Head of a Pin. 1. - Fearing - Hell had left him empty. There was nothing but loneliness and pain and guilt. But the knife in his hand could take it all away. And so he sliced and he carved, not caring about what happened next - only wanting to forget. Please R&R :) Rating for slight language and angst.


**_DISCLAIMER: IDNOSPN(BIWID)_**

**So this is an idea that I've had running through my mind for a while, and watching Supernatural at 2 in the morning (whilst probably not being a good idea sleepwise)certainly helped me get this one down. So read, review, tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, and the other chapters should be up soon :)**

* * *

_I'm tired of burying friends, Sam._

The single sentence ran through his head, repeating itself over and over again.

_I'm tired of burying friends, Sammy._

_I'm tired of burying friends._

_I'm tired._

And truth be told, he was. He was sick and tired of everything. Of the responsibility, of having the weight of the world on his shoulders. That was why he'd fought so hard against the angels' command. Because he'd known that as soon as he got that knife in his hand, what was left of him would crumble into dust. The Dean that he'd rebuilt, piece by shattered piece, would smash into a thousand tiny shards, each more splintered than before. His façade would twist and fold, taking with it any last scrap of humanity.

In a way, he kind of welcomed it. And it would be so easy to. It would be so, so easy just to open his arms and let the darkness in. It would take away the feelings, and the pain, and the guilt, and the hollow feeling in his chest. He could forget everything. Forget the tiredness and the loneliness. He was nothing, but the knife in his hand could make it all go away. Without the emotions, he was a machine, and he was capable of anything. Alistair was right, he did want payback, he did want vengeance, because nothing – nothing – could compensate for the fact that he hadn't just lost himself in hell, he'd lost everything that went with him.

There was no joy in life anymore, not even in Baby, or pie. There was no sense of 'look after Sammy' or 'follow the family business'. There was nothing. So maybe it was like being back in the pit, but even the rack was better than this.

Once he'd thought this could fix him. He'd thought that getting revenge would give him some kind of closure, some form of escape. Whilst he'd hung in hell, dreaming of revenge, he'd dared to hope that life could go back to normal. And it almost had. He'd almost perfected the art of smiling through the pain, and focusing on one day at a time. He'd been so close to a perfect charade, before the angels had come and taken it all away.

Heaven, hell. There was no peace in either of them, and none anywhere in between.

He'd failed again. Only, this time it wasn't just dad he'd let down, it wasn't just Sammy. It wasn't even himself.

No, this time it was much worse. This time it was the whole goddamn world.

Given a chance, turning back time, he knew he'd still make the same choice. Even knowing what he knew now, he'd still give in. He'd still break the first seal. He wasn't strong enough. Daddy's little girl just wasn't up to par with the old man. Yeah, he'd always seemed more confident than Sammy, he'd always acted tougher. But that was all a cover. A cover for the Dean that hid away, fearing for his family and his friends. The Dean that looked away every time they ganked someone, because no matter what it was now, it was once a person. The Dean that watched his brother sleep at night, not daring to drift off in case something happened and he wasn't there to stop it. The Dean that cried over his mom, and yearned for the life he could have had.

The first time he'd picked up that razor in hell, the first time he'd sliced into warm flesh and broken the first seal, he'd felt a sense of mechanical joy – the kind that numbs the other senses, and isolates the mind. He'd slashed and carved and cut, not caring who they put in front of him, or what they were there for, just longing for an escape from the never ending pain of humanity.

_And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break._

He had broken, but there hadn't been that much left to break. The few scraps of decency he had left had been mere rags, fluttering in the wind. And it didn't really matter what happened next, because nothing could be worse than this. Whatever they did to him, they couldn't touch him. Nothing in hell, heaven or earth could break him now, because he'd passed through broken and was somewhere on the other side. He'd gone too far down that road, and there was no turning back. There was no past, no future, only here and now, because nothing mattered anymore. The end was coming, he had caused it, and now there was nothing anyone could do. The dominos were falling. The end was in sight. And it was all his fault.

_'When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester. We'll owe it all to you._

* * *

**Review please! Sam and Cas up soon.**


End file.
